


Cage

by ClockStrikesMidnight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Crime AU, Dean is the bad guy, Emotional Manipulation, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, F/M, M/M, Manipulative Dean, Mental Health Issues, Messed up Dean, Plot, Police Brutality, Prior to season 6, Prison AU, Prison love, Sam graduated, Some Canon, Stanford Student Sam Winchester, They're pitted against each other, dun dun dun, investigation au, john's dead, or are they??, some porn, sorry - Freeform, they aren't brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-02-10 12:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18660361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockStrikesMidnight/pseuds/ClockStrikesMidnight
Summary: Sam Winchester just graduated from Stanford with a masters in behavioral health. His first client is nothing short of difficult.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all. 
> 
> I swear every time I rewatch old favorites I'm inspired to write fics again. So, here we are. This is an idea I've been playing around with for a novel and I thought it might work well as a Supernatural story, so here it goes. No idea how much effort I'll put into this but I hope you all enjoy what there is to be read. 
> 
> **
> 
> A few things to remember before we continue. This is totally AU. No monsters, no hunting, none of that. Mary and John are the parents of Sam Winchester. John died a few weeks later. Mary is kind of distant but she's proud of Sam for going to school. Sam and Jess have been dating for a couple months.
> 
> You'll probably hate Dean.
> 
> That's all for now folks!

_Don't let me give up on my life, help me_  
_To find the courage to fight for my dignity_  
_Sorry is not a word I can comprehend_  
_Does justice really profail, can the truth ever be known_  
_Your rules, your mind games_  
_Eating the core of my soul._

_-Terri Read_

 

 

The clock on the left side wall of the bar numbly ticks itself into the next morning. The steady hum of florescent lights is the only sound, save for a few distant coughs of heavy smokers outside. Somehow everything feels colder tonight, like there’s a malfunction with the heating system; not that most of the patrons would notice such a thing due to their elevated blood alcohol level. Megan Morris sits at a small booth at the end of the row, spinning her straw in her one third full Jack and Coke, her head resting against the back board. 

“Better down that soon, lights out in twenty minutes,” the bartender behind the counter who Meg knows as Mike, (Michael Achilles, Mike for short, had been a legend of this bar for the last forty five years, starting at the ripe age of fifteen, throwing drunks out in the gutter at midnight.), speaks up as he finishes wiping down the bar counter. Meg nods slowly and picks up her glass, downing it with a sharp inhale.

Mike starts to switch the lights off one at a time, reminding the other inhabitants of the bar that it’s time to go, and they start to shuffle out alongside Meg, some taking longer than others to steady themselves at the door. Being the only lady in the group, Meg knows she’s asking for trouble. It’s late, almost everyone is inebriated, she can’t make the drive home herself, but still she comes, week after week, and feels the intensity of eyes on her back as she makes her way towards the sidewalk that leads her home.

The night air is even colder than it had been in the bar and Meg shivers into the wind and pulls her tunic up over her neck. Her legs feel like they aren’t even attached to her body and she grimaces that she let herself get this fucked up again. It’s a Monday. Ridiculous. She steps up her pace as her eagerness to get home and go to bed increases, but hears a crackling behind her that stops her cold.

“Hey honey,” a velvety smooth voice murmurs from behind her. It feels close, close enough that Meg probably should’ve started running at this point if she had all of her braincells working together. She hears the crackling again and recognizes it as knuckles all being cracked in unison. A shiver runs down her spine.

In a moment of clarity she realizes she should be trying to escape and wills her legs to push herself forward without tripping and falling like a pathetic drunk. The person behind her seems to anticipate this action and grabs her right wrist, pulling on it so roughly that Meg feels the bone break immediately. With a howl of pain she attempts to writhe away from the figure, pushing against what feels like leather.

“Really, doll? You’re stupider than you look,” the voice murmurs, this time lower and deadlier. Before Meg has time to think about her next move, she feels a cold, sharp object slice down her left forearm, and her vision goes black.

 

***

 

With an immense amount of force, Sam Winchester hurls directly into the toilet.

“Good morning, party animal.” Her voice comes from behind him, soft and cooing, clearly playing nice for his hangover. He laughs carefully between breaths.

“There’s a reason I only spent weekends studying,” he retorts, teasing, before burping up another mouthful of bile. “How do people do this every week?”

“Well, most of them just start drinking again right away, makes it a little easier to stomach…oh, sorry,” Jess moves into the bathroom and apologizes as her mentions of alcohol send Sam hurling again. She suppresses a small laugh and sits along the edge of the shower, setting a glass of water down next to Sam.

He takes a moment to steady himself, making sure he won’t throw up on his girlfriend, and grabs the glass of water, draining it as quickly as his stomach will allow. It seems to help enough for the time being so he shifts away from the toilet bowl, flushing away his shame. His eyes find her face and she smiles, her perfect lips unveiling perfect teeth. He sighs internally, _How did I ever get this lucky?_ He rests his hand on hers and smiles back, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.

“I’m really proud of you, you know?” She says, placing her hand on his knee and squeezing. “There’s no way I would have graduated in your major.”

Right, the night before. It starts to come back to Sam’s memory slowly, his mother hugging him tightly after he crossed the stage, Jess waiting behind her to kiss him softly and meaningfully, and Gabe’s resounding high five, that left even Sam’s hand aching.Last night, unofficially, his life started. After six point five long years in Stanford’s halls, Sam Winchester finally graduated with a masters in behavioral health. Sam wasn’t sure why he always had such a fascination with behavioral disorders, but it didn’t waiver by the time he turned twenty so he decided to go to school for it. Of course his impressive 4.0 GPA and seemingly endless list of extracurricular activities made getting into Stanford a piece of cake, and he made good on his time there.

The best part however, was Jess. They met one day over the last poppyseed muffin in the dining hall and laughed and insisted the other take the muffin, until Sam finally decided it was best to split it in half and eat together. They spent the rest of the evening talking and were inseparable by the next day. This was something that had irritated Sam’s room mate, Gabriel, for he was used to being the only one Sam hung out with, but within a few days the three of them were like peas in a pod.

He smiles to himself and kisses her cheek again, before steadily raising himself from the floor to brush the last of his college experience from his teeth.


	2. Chapter Two

 

_Under, over, under…wait no, crap!_

On the third attempt to tie his own tie, Sam finally gives up and decides to be one of those “top button undone” kind of shrinks. Nothing says spill your life story quite like business casual attire. First day on the new job, and Sam actually doesn’t feel as nervous as he expected. Of course his palms are sweaty and he keeps pushing his hair away from his forehead like some sort of weird subconscious tick, but that’s not worse than the average day. He smooths his hair one last time in the mirror before heading to the kitchen.

Jess is sitting at the kitchen table by the window, her favorite spot, with a mug of steaming coffee in her hands. Sam smiles to himself as she doesn’t look up from her magazine when he enters the room. Going to the fridge he pulls out a gallon of milk and an egg, detouring to the side cabinet for a frying pan. He hears the subtle squeak of Jess’ chair and knows immediately what she’s up to. Nonchalantly he places the pan on the stove and click click click’s the gas flame to life. Smirking to himself as he hears her small footsteps coming up behind him, he taps his egg against the stove top and drops the sizzling embryo into the pan. Within the instant a shuffling of feet moves behind him and he spins to catch her by the waist and maneuver them both so she’s propped up on the counter top. She laughs and play smacks his shoulder.

“How do you always do that?” She mock grumbles, wrapping her legs around his back and pulling him to her.

“You’re not nearly as sneaky as you think you are, Moore,” Sam snickers, leaning in to breathe softly onto the skin of her neck. She’s wearing short short pajama bottoms which Sam takes advantage of by sliding his soft fingers up her thigh. He feels her shiver slightly under the touch. “After all, I’m trained with the mentally deranged, and you, my dear, are constantly trying to attack me.”

Jess laughs and squeezes him harder with her legs. “Well, if you treat all your patients like this we might have to have a talk.” She steals a quick kiss on the lips before pushing him back with her legs and bouncing off the counter with a wink.

Sam laughs to himself under his breath and directs his attention back to the stove, where his egg is starting to solidify in the center. He flips it quickly before pouring himself a glass of milk and heading to sit down by Jessica.

“Are you nervous?” She asks before he has a chance to tell her otherwise.

“Not really, honestly,” Sam says, slicing into his egg. “I think the worst thing that could happen is I spill my coffee on someone.”

“That’s optimistic,” she says. “You know what job you’re going into right? You’re literally going to be working with crazy people all day and trying to figure out if they’re actually crazy or just sadistic.”

“And hopefully help them,” Sam retorts, slightly annoyed at Jessica’s tone. It’s not like she didn’t know what they both were signing up for when he took the job at the city jail. Sam had always been the type to want to help others, even when they didn’t deserve it. Mom always called him her little miracle worker, but he never much liked the religious undertones of that title. When he saw the job opening for mental health examiner at the jail, he automatically applied, as if there was nothing to even consider. Jessica, of course, had had her worries about her boyfriend working in such close quarters with criminals, but Sam had thought she’d gotten over it.

“And _hopefully_ help them,” she repeats, sipping at her coffee.

“You know maybe this isn’t the best conversation to be having right before I’m about to leave. If there was an issue with this you should have brought it up before now.” Oh yeah, he’s annoyed now. Jess stiffens in her chair slightly and puts her coffee down, leaning in slightly over the table.

“Sam, you’ll be fine. I’m just messing with you. You think it’s not a major turn on knowing your lover boy is working with psychopaths all day?” She laughs lightheartedly and Sam can feel the tension leave the room. He’s reminded again how much he doesn’t deserve her.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I guess maybe I’m more nervous than I realize,” Sam says, and looks at his watch. “And now I’m late, so I’ve gotta get going.” He stuffs the rest of his breakfast into his mouth, lifts from his chair and goes to grab his jacket. Springtime in Oregon is never quite as warm as Sam expects, so a light jacket is almost always a must. Jess gets up from her chair and bounces lightly over to Sam, spinning him on the spot and zipping up his jacket.

“You’ll do great, baby,” she smiles and pushes up to her tippy toes to kiss Sam deeply on the lips. His anxiety boils at the touch and he feels himself push into her soft lips, parting them slightly and breathing in her soft scent. She breaks away much too quickly.

“Later,” she sighs, and follows him to the door.

\---

The jail is only 3.4 miles from their house, but Sam feels the need to speed. Most of the streets along the way are residential anyway, and any sane families would already be about their day.

 _What a loser._ Sam thinks to himself. _Late on the first day, I’ll be lucky if they don’t fire me on the spot._

He pushes in on the pedal slightly heavier, easing into the 45 mph range. Trying to push the increasing nerves out, he turns the radio on, blasting whatever garbage turns on. His fingers tap against the wheel and he pushes his speed to 50. He can see the jail a block ahead of him, but slams to a halt at the nearest stop sign. A small Bonneville creeps through the intersection, an elderly woman barely able to see out the windshield, behind the wheel. Sam groans to himself and slams on the gas the second she’s out of the way.

Of course, he’s so distracted he doesn’t notice the man stepping out from the sidewalk.

Within what had to have been half a second, Sam’s foot slams onto the break pedal, sending his body jolting forward.

The man in front of the car also slams on his breaks, and just nearly nicks the left headlight. Sam regains his composure rather quickly and undoes his seat belt, hurling himself out the driver side door.

“What the _hell_ , man?” The almost roadkill growls. Sam doesn’t even know how to handle this situation. He looks the man up and down, slightly shorter than he is, but still enormous compared to the average person. His hair is short and spiked, and a slight stubble is growing on his face. Honestly, if this were a different situation, Sam would have called him gorgeous. His baby doll yet completely masculine face raises an eyebrow at Sams lack of response.

“I’m, I’m so _so_ sorry, dude, it’s my first day and I was running late, and I could have _killed—-“_ Sam feels his brain starting to scramble and he stops himself from finishing the thought. The other man shakes his head and laughs to himself.

“No shit! Watch where you’re going next time,” he says, still laughing, and goes to clap Sam on the shoulder, shaking him out of his mental break. Maybe he should be the one checking into the jail. “Hopefully don’t see ya again soon!” The man continues, and starts walking on the sidewalk again, back the way he came.

Sam can’t really function at this point. He notices that his whole body is shaking and can feel his throat starting to close up. He clenches down his jaw tightly and pinches himself in the bicep, which starts him enough to get back to his car. The music is still blasting, and he reaches to turn it off as he slowly approaches what is quickly becoming the worst possible beginning to a day.

 


End file.
